There's Always Hope
by deGorgeous
Summary: Stuck in the Enchanted Forest, Killian receives some words of encouragement from Snow in the fact of being separated from their loved ones. Loosely based on spoilers for the season 6 finale.


He sits a few paces from their camp's dying fire, faintly crackling and glowing despite the cool gusting wind of the oncoming dawn. He watches it without really seeing; can think of little else besides how they ended up here in the Enchanted Forest, or what remains of it, and above all else, how to get back to Storybrooke. How to get back home. _Again_.

The thick vines at Killian's back, while too stubborn to mold against him even after hours of contact, provide him with a level of support and protection not usually afforded in situations such as these (and _oh_ how there have been far too many situations such as the one he currently finds himself in: lost, shivering, practically vibrating with restless energy and mind whirling with strategies that are dismissed just as quickly as they are conjured). He had a good chuckle to himself upon first seeing the base of the decaying beanstalk, after the bout of disorientation and nausea typical of any realm-crossing journey, willful or otherwise. It had been cut down to a wide stump of faded green, and he'd exchanged an acknowledging look to Snow, who was less nostalgic and more vigilant as she heeded signs of any potential danger.

Amusement gave way to fleeting hope almost immediately, for where there was a beanstalk, a magic bean—just one, Gods above, he only wanted _one_ — couldn't be far. But Snow, who had apparently shared in that hope, shook her head after completing a full turn around the wilting plant. It had been severed long ago, she had said. Nothing but dried leaves and encompassing forest remained.

So, they had huddled together, the group of them: himself, Snow White, and Jasmine, all stranded and disconnected from their True Loves, as was the Black Fairy's intention no doubt. Carved out a resting spot, gathered branches and twigs for kindling, collected berries and the like suitable for consumption per Snow's instruction, and Killian took up first watch.

And second watch, as he could not find it within him to wake Jasmine from her tranquil slumber. Sleep would not find him anyway; no peace could be found without his Emma, his _wife_ , resting there by his side, knowing she was safe. Several hours of staring into the almost pitch black of the night and he was no less alert, his thoughts no less loud or unrelenting, his brooding punctuated every so often by the euphoric notion that he and the love of his life were finally married.

He twirls the newest and most cherished addition to his abundant assortment of rings, the metal of his wedding band still new and rough against his finger. It's a burn he welcomes, a reminder of his new title as husband to the Savior herself, a pirate prince for a royal princess, an official member of the Charming clan.

It's with thoughts of them that he glances to Snow's resting spot, knowing her turn is approaching and quietly hoping she'd sleep through her shift to spare them both the argument of who should stay up until morning.

Only, she isn't there. His heart begins to race and he makes to get up from his perch when he feels a gentle hand against his shoulder.

"Sorry," she whispers hoarsely, a drowsiness in her voice. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Killian waves her off as he leans back against the stalk, a lengthy exhale of relief escaping him as he deflates. It's bad enough he has no idea what treachery Emma could be facing in their absence without the added stress of potentially failing to protect her family, now _his_ family. The pounding in his ears from the brief scare lessens by the second, and Killian has enough of his faculties to notice Snow's dark silhouette in his periphery, as well as the sideways tilt of her head in a silent request to join him.

He hastily scoots over, a mumbled apology for not accommodating sooner. She grunts while plopping down against the hard soil, her quirky brand of cheerfulness bubbling up the closer she gets to wakefulness. Her legs are drawn up to her chest, in contrast to the way his are bent more casually, his foot almost extending entirely to the fire, an illusion of nonchalance. Snow's pose reminds him so much of Emma he finds it difficult to look her way, content to just gaze out into the endless woodland in the company of his mother-in-law (and _bloody hell_ will that take some getting used to).

She must notice the tension in his posture and the clenching of his jaw, made all the more perceptible by their proximity, as after a minute or two, she clears her throat and bumps her shoulder against his.

"It gets easier, you know."

Killian faces her then, mouth agape in surprise. "Pardon?"

"Being separated from each other. It still hurts, don't get me wrong," she pauses, outstretching her open palms in a stopping motion. "And the longing never goes away, but… each time it happens, you know you've faced it before and you can do it again if you have to. That it's not impossible."

He stares at her like a buffoon, he's sure, all slack expression and stuttering sounds. "Aye, you're probably right."

Snow's words percolate, flowing through his mind as he wills them to calm his nerves. She's well-experienced in the matter, after all, and while he had formerly misjudged her optimism as pampered foolishness, he knows now that when she speaks it's with the utmost wisdom and earnestness. Now that she's opened the door to conversation, Killian finds himself wanting to share his troubles, and who better than with someone in the same position as he.

"This… isn't exactly how I pictured spending my honeymoon," he says, the words somehow taking on a less appropriate quality once spoken aloud. He flushes, thinking back to Snow's interruption of his and Emma's breakfast just a few days prior. He had been bolder at the time, yes, but now here she was trying to give him comfort and _that's_ what he offers her in return? "I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant, Killian," she laughs, clouded puffs of her breath sputtering out into the crisp night air. "If it makes you feel better, David and I spent our honeymoon fighting a gorgon."

It's his turn to laugh, his startled chuckle loud enough to stir Jasmine if she wasn't such a heavy sleeper.

"Why does that not surprise me."

"David gave me lecture about quiet moments after that," she sighs, the memory fond despite the critical humor in her tone. Perhaps, he thinks, it's something that comes with years of marriage, and he looks forward to it with a deep ache in his chest.

"I've lectured Emma about that very thing, actually. A few times in fact."

His admission seems to take her off guard, her hands stopping in their brushing of her shins. Before he can worry too much if he's said the wrong thing, she softens, her eyes filling with moisture at the corners.

"I'm glad you do. I'm glad she has you."

"She's supposed to," he replies automatically, doing his best to quell the bitterness he'd be been holding within since they arrived in Misthaven, but it surges to the surface. "I just want to get back to her. I promised Emma I'd always be by her side, but I'm not and it's enough to drive a man—"

"And you will. We all will. The Black Fairy won't win."

The conviction in her declarations is enough to pierce through the negativity of a mindset he's let himself stew in for hours. They're not flowery statements made for the sole purpose of boosting morale or convincing one's own self. He'd been at the receiving end of many of those in his naval days; can weed them out with unerring accuracy.

When Snow White says they'll succeed, it's because she truly believes they will, and her confidence is blessedly contagious.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Carry so much hope with you?" The awe in his voice must tell her she's gotten through to him, her smile warm and wide, the way a mother's should be.

"I remind myself that wherever my loved ones are, they're working just has hard to get us all back together as I am. It's what this family does: we find each other, no matter what." She puts her hand over his then, squeezing the flesh between his thumb and forefinger in reassurance. "And it's something you two have been doing for a while, way before you got married."

"Thank you," is all he can manage to say, overcome with gratitude as he is to the family whose welcomed him with open arms and regards him as one of their own.

"Go to sleep, Killian," she playfully commands (though he senses it would turn decidedly less playful were he to refuse), nudging him again at the side, occupying the space he leaves vacant as he slowly rises up and stretches his sore muscles.

The sky's changed color, the dark blue morphing into rosy hues of pink and yellow, thin streams of lighting filtering through the trees and onto their encampment. He won't get much sleep, but he's functioned on less in his centuries-old life. Today it'll be more than enough to sustain him in the noble pursuit of defeating their latest foe, and in his more selfish quest to be reunited with Emma.

Killian drifts off, images of them together again, in their house, on their couch, in their bed, wrapped up in one another and never letting go flickering behind his eyes, repeated phrases of devotion and triumph on the tip of his tongue as they clamor in his heart.

 _I'll never stop fighting for us.  
_ _  
I will always come for you.  
_ _  
I will always find you._

.  
.


End file.
